


Rewards and Cocktails

by trash4ficsaboutlurv



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Nat is gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 02:23:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10607322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash4ficsaboutlurv/pseuds/trash4ficsaboutlurv
Summary: The team all deserve a break after an exhausting op, so naturally Stark throws a party.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have had writer's block up the butt for like a month. Couldn't work on my manuscript. Couldn't churn out a fanfic. Couldn't write a damn journal entry. But I think I might be back on track. So anyway, this is Samsteve. Strums my guitar.

Sam surveyed the Avengers Tower room tactically, noting with appreciation the sleek décor, sparkling lights, and beautiful guests. Sam gave Stark his props. He (or more likely one of his many minions) had created a layout that forced everyone toward the center of the room. The bar was clear across the way from any of the seating areas and the jungle juice fountain (no doubt, Rhodey had insisted on its presence) was over by the window as far from the dance floor as the spacious room would allow and the speakers were all along the perimeter to keep people from clinging to the walls. Plus, there was the towering cake in the center of the room, made to look like the Avengers Tower, with each floor decorated to match someone on the team (Stark’s floor was the penthouse, obviously, and the most ostentatious by far). Sam couldn’t deny it: Stark knew how to make a party work.  

And the team definitely deserved a party. This had been a long op – one with dozens of moving parts. Sam and Natasha had been undercover at an advertising agency for a few months (Hydra front, of course); Clint and Steve had been bringing in (here, meaning, beating to a bloody pulp or tagging with a well-placed tracker via dart) high level Hydra agents hiding in Florida; Fury, Maria, Sharon, and Rhodey were down in D.C. quietly pushing the right congress people to rewrite legislation that had given Hydra hidey-holes and legal back channels. Tony was buying the right people when diplomacy wasn't getting the job done. No one was getting enough sleep and everyone was taking more punches than they’d like. 

And it had all culminated in one of those ugly, knockout battles in northern Manitoba of all places. And as much as flying was its own reward, Sam had earned recompense and a half for dodging bullets up in the icy atmosphere on the frozen Canadian tundra. Luckily, there had been no casualties on their side of things and none of the enemy got away (hard to hide in all that white bleakness).  

The team was all wiped out, everyone slouched in their seats on a military bus, when Stark (sporting an impressive welt across half his face; how he'd even managed that with his suit on, Sam could not begin to guess) had said, "Party at mine this weekend? Let's get shitfaced and forget our troubles."  

A pathetic, but genuine 'whoo' went up from the troops and now here they were.  

Steve was at Sam’s elbow, the very slightest frown pulling at the corner of his mouth. Steve had lobbied very hard for declining Stark’s invite and watching garbage television together. He didn’t consider partying a reward for a job well-done so much as another fight to get through. But Sam had pointed out that friends don’t just punch the bad guys together; they celebrated the victories, too, and Steve’s reliable sense of duty (to Friendship, in this case) kicked in and he’d put on his nicest (read: tightest) dress shirt (wine red) and even splurged on a single spritz of cologne (Gucci, Guilty; a gift from Sam). And when Sam told him what he always told Steve when he got dressed up (“You clean up good, Captain”) Steve had blushed prettily and said, “Shut up, Sam.” 

Monica Rambeau (new trial-basis member to the team) was sitting on the arm of a chair talking to Rhodey, who looked nothing short of dazzled to be speaking with her (he had a crush he was doing a terrible job of denying). She glanced up from their conversation and smiled warmly at Sam and Steve from across the room. Sam pushed Steve very gently toward Monica and Rhodey and nodded toward the bar.  

“I’ll catch up with you in a sec,” he said. “Stark has all the really good liquor.” 

Steve grimaced. He associated alcohol with the time he tried to drown his sorrows after Bucky fell, so he was something of a teetotaler. It hardly mattered since Steve couldn't get drunk anyway and made an excellent designated driver. Sam rubbed Steve's shoulder before abandoning him for the bar.  

The bartender was a beautiful black woman with rich, dark brown skin (if skin could look expensive, her skin looked expensive) and long auburn dreads. Where did Tony find all these gorgeous women whose sole ambition seemed to be pouring drinks for the rich and famous.  

"What's the most outrageously named cocktail you can whip up?" He asked, smiling brightly.  

The bartender sparkled more than smiled, but she considered him carefully before answering. "I think, for you," she said in a low voice that went down like dark rum, "a Cock Sucking Cowboy is a sure bet." 

Sam laughed, glanced back at Steve who was engrossed in conversation with Monica. Rhodey had disappeared for the moment. Steve and Sam had just very recently watched _Brokeback Mountain_ so the cocktail name worked on multiple levels. "Okay, what goes in a Cock Sucking Cowboy." 

The bartender sparkled some more.  

"Other than cock," Sam laughed again. He felt a little drunk already, talking to this beautiful woman, here in Tony's glittering penthouse, knowing he was going home with Steve.  

"Butterscotch Schnapps and Bailey's," she said. "It's like a shot of candy." 

The reasonable thought that it probably tasted like the bottom of an old lady's purse (you know the old ladies; the ones with butterscotch candies so old they've fermented in their wrappers), but he was feeling playful.  

"Alright," he agreed. "I'll start with one of those. And then a beer to follow." 

"I've got more outrageous drinks," she promised as she poured his order. 

"Save them for me. I'll be back." 

She passed him a napkin and his glass. "Tony says you all had a hard week and that I have to be extra nice." 

Sam had a flirty response all lined up (something like, _I get the feeling you're always extra nice)_ but he bit back from it. He and Steve had been a thing for almost three months and the reason it had taken so long in the first place was because Steve thought Sam flirted with everyone and that Sam didn't actually like him like that. And Sam _did_ flirt with everyone (he called it practice), but Steve had to be an idiot to think the Sam's risking-his-life-again-and-again-for-Steve wasn't a step above the way Sam flirted with any ole person he happened upon. So these days, he was careful not to be too much of a charmer. He wanted Steve to know how special Sam thought he was. He smiled at the bartender instead. "What's your name?" He asked. 

"Kitty," she said. "Kitty Knowles." 

This is where Sam would have pointed out what a perfectly suggestive name she had, but he didn't. He touched the smooth, cold glass of his shot. "I'm Sam," he offered. 

Her sparkle went up a few wattages. "I know," she assured him. And then, "Have a good time, Sam. I'll be here when you're thirsty again." She dragged her gaze across him and it couldn't have been more lewd if she'd reached across the bar and grabbed his crotch.  

Sam chuckled as he walked over to Steve. He and Kitty could have a lot of wonderfully ridiculous conversations. Dancing right on the edge of too much was Sam's specialty where flirting was concerned and Kitty Knowles might just be better at it than him. 

"What has you all glowy?" Monica asked when Sam joined her and Steve.  

"Nothing yet.  But I've got a Cock Sucking Cowboy to drink," he said, indicating his shot glass. Steve's eyes bulged appropriately though he tried to hid it. "And a beer chaser. I plan to get very, very sloshed tonight."  

Monica grinned. "Good, me too. I also plan to get James very drunk. I think it will get the stick out of his ass. Unless he's into that. Which I can work with." 

Steve shook his head, smiling. He'd told Sam already how much he liked Monica because she never minced words.  

"Rhodes still doesn't like me all that much," Steve said, "so if you're trying to woo him, I'd stay well clear of me. That's why he ran off to hang with Helen and Clint. So he wouldn't punch me." 

Monica rolled her eyes. "If I blame it on testosterone, it sounds like a foregone conclusion that men are ridiculous – that it's in your nature." 

"Isn't it?" Sam asked.  

"I've met a few decent ones. Can't quite recall who or where or when, but I'm certain I have. Anyway, I'm going to go get James relaxed enough to admit he wants to have lots of fun sex with me." 

Sam and Steve nodded at this with identical poker faces until she was gone, and then Sam collapsed into laughter, while Steve's shoulders shook helplessly and tears pricked the corners of his eyes. "We lead absolutely absurd lives," Steve gasped between waves of laughter. 

"This was your breaking point?" Sam asked incredulously. "Monica wanting to bang Rhodey?" 

"Yeah," Steve said, nodding thoughtfully. "Weird, huh?" 

"A little," Sam said, enjoying the pleasant ache of smiling too much. He grinned down at Steve, then brushed a kiss over the bridge of his nose. Steve's eyes closed, like he needed to savor that little bit of contact.  

"You gonna drink that _cock_ tail?" Steve asked, his eyes bright with pride at his own pun.  

Sam didn't think his cheeks could hurt anymore than they did at this moment. He knocked back the shot and groaned. Deliciously buttery with just a touch of froth. "I think you'd like the taste of this one," he told Steve.  

Steve licked his lips and his gaze dropped to Sam's mouth. "As tempting as that is," he said. 

"Even the taste of alcohol is _no bueno_ ," Sam finished for him. "So I'm choosing between getting totally drunk or kissing you at all tonight." 

Steve shrugged.  "You can kiss me anytime. When are you going to have a bartender that beautiful making you a drink that filthy?" 

Sam opened his mouth to throw something together about how beautiful Steve was, how filthy they could be together, but Natasha chose that moment to appear out of thin air and say, "Hey boys," in this breathy little whisper that had probably got her into and out of a lot of trouble. 

"Hey Nat," Steve said.  

"What promises did you make to get him here?" Natasha asked Sam as she kneaded Steve's shoulder with the heel of her hand.  

"No promises," Sam said. "Steve loves parties now. Right, babe?" 

Steve wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, parties are the best." His dry tone made Sam love him a little bit (they hadn't yet reached the 'I love you' stage of things, but Sam knew that's what this feeling was – this sort of helpless, happy yearning for someone who was right there and his.) 

"You should go see what Kitty will make you," Natasha suggested. She raised a finger before Steve could remind her that he didn't drink. "I'm sure she'll make you a virgin," she said, then smiled at the puerile joke not-so-cleverly hidden in her statement. "Or not-a-virgin, if Sam here hasn't gotten around to it." 

Steve's ears flushed, but he only smiled and ignored Natasha's teasing. Sam stroked the nape of Steve's neck.  

"What'd she make you?" Sam asked Natasha. 

"Well, the virgin train left the station a long time ago," she said. "But Kitty made me a redheaded slut." Natasha winked. "She gets me." 

Sam and Steve exchanged glances and Steve took the bullet and asked, "What's in a red-headed slut, Nat?" 

"Well, this redheaded slut is full vodka. Pregamed with Clint. But _this_ redheaded slut -- " She lifted her glass. "This one is Jäger, peach schnapps, and cranberry juice." 

"That sounds good," Sam admitted.  

"I think it embodies at least one of my personas pretty well." Natasha licked the rim of her glass.  

Steve rolled his eyes. "Nat, we're not one of your marks." 

"Everyone's a mark," she said dismissively. "And my mark for the night is Kitty. I mean, I do have principles about hitting on service staff because they have to be nice to everyone as part of their job, but I'm thinking, I make a mean white Russian and I could give her an hour off and hit on her then." 

Sam smiled bemusedly. "I would hate to be on the receiving end of your tactical romancing." 

"You almost were," Natasha admitted.  

Sam raised his eyes in surprise as Steve's blush spread from his ears to his temples and cheeks.  

Natasha pretended not to notice as she explained. "Steve called dibs and I backed off. Because I respect nothing more than the sacred rule of Dibs." 

Sam forced his lips into a neutral position so Steve wouldn't think he was laughing at him. "When exactly did Steve call dibs?" he asked.  

The flush made its way to Steve's neck - a pure Pepto Bismol pink.  

Natasha took another sip of her drink, watching Steve with a gleeful gleam in her eye. "I don't quite remember," she said. "When did you call dibs, Steve?" 

Sam, enjoying the hell out of this, but also wanting to tell Natasha to lay off his man, said "You don't have to tell me. I know it was the moment you clapped eyes on me. " 

"Just about," Nat said, the glee turning a little sour to have her fun ruined so early. "It was in the car. All I said was 'hey' to you and Steve was all, 'You can't have that one.' Actually, if I recall he may have added, 'you leave a wake of destruction wherever you go and Sam's nice.'" 

"I did not say that," Steve said emphatically.  

"You implied it," Natasha insisted. Her green eyes took on a tragic cast.  

Steve was taken in by it and ducked his head sheepishly. "I don't think you leave a wake of destruction wherever you go, Nat. A few broken heads and heart, maybe." 

"I love it when you talk sweet to me," Nat purred.  

Just then a gasp from across the room drew Sam's attention. Stark had just appeared from some fancy hole in his floor and was showing off a new suit he'd designed – sleek and shiny, black instead of his classic red with a red core. It looked pretty dope. 

"Couldn't sleep last night," Stark announced. "Whipped up something in the lab. Got Sam a present, too." 

Sam's eyes widened in surprise and he briefly entertained the thought that Stark had a child named Sam or maybe a girlfriend now that he and Pepper were in an off-again stage of their on-again, off-again romance. But Stark pointed a mechanical finger at Sam and put that thought to rest.  

Natasha whooed for him like a drunk bachelorette hanging out of a limo roof and the rest of the party took up her cheers. Sam made a 'come on' guys face, but when he saw even Fury in on the cheering, he decided to just let it be.  

The cheers died down before Stark continued. "Sam's been a pretty excellent addition to the team in both brains and beauty." 

Another round of cheers.  

"And it's nowhere near his birthday or Christmas or any reasonable time to give someone a gift, but I wanted to make the damn thing and I'm too cool for a sidekick, so..." 

A whirring noise behind Sam caused him to turn around and there was a glossy red drone hovering at eye level.  

"His name is Redwing and you must promise to love him as I have loved him," Stark was saying.  

And Sam could honestly say that he was already there. "Hi Redwing," he said. The drone bobbed up and down as if in greeting. Sam barely registered the awwwws going around the room.  

"A feat of my genius, everybody," Stark said. "Just a reminder that any and all attention given to Redwing is rightfully mine." 

Everyone laughed, everyone except Sam who was experiencing some real love-at-first-sight feelings. Who knew that all his superheroing life, he'd needed a little drone to be his new pal. He reached out to pat the glossy metal exterior, but without warning, the drone zipped away and onto the waiting elevator.  

"I've programmed it to go to your house," Stark explained. "Wouldn't want you to forget to get drunk looking after your new baby. Right, guys?" 

Everyone whooted again.  

"Shouldn't Sam get crazy drunk?!" Stark shouted. 

"YEAH!" 

"Shouldn't we all get crazy drunk?!" 

"YEAH!!!!" The cheers were raucous, led by Clint and Natasha, who had somehow ended up together and were chest bumping like a bunch of frat guys – Natasha doing this in heels and not spilling a drop of her drink.  

Steve smiled up at Sam and the light show started and a kaleidoscope of color exploded on Steve's face. It exactly mirrored how Sam felt in this moment, about his new toy, about Steve, about being at a party with witty, beautiful people, some of whom saved the world on a regular basis.  

"I really wanna make out with you," Sam said baldly, not really in the mood for coy. 

Steve's smile widened. "I was thinking the same thing," he admitted.  

Sam rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a mint. "For the alcohol taste," he said. 

"Always prepared," Steve said. He hooked his thumbs into Sam's jean loops and pulled him forward. He was still sitting down, so his face only came up to Sam's chest. Sam kissed the top of his head. 

"I've watched a Boy Scout video or two in my life." 

Steve slid his hands up under Sam's shirt and skirted across his hip bones. "You know what I like about you?" Steve asked.  

Sam tilted his head. "What?" 

"Everything." 

And damn, Sam could flirt circles around most people. He could bring goosebumps to someone's skin with a few well-chosen words, get someone flustered and horny with a single double entendre, could leave someone begging him to make good on his promises. But nobody, _nobody_ did sexy, sincere, and honest like Steve Grant Rogers. 

Sam sank down onto the couch beside Steve and kissed him gently, chastely on the lips. “How’s that?”  he asked, pulling back enough to see that Steve’s eyes were closed, the fan of his lashes trembling ever so slightly. The percussive beat of the music playing matched up with the pound of Sam’s heart. 

“I don’t know,” Steve answered, coming in for another kiss. “I haven’t tasted you yet.” 

And then Steve proceeded to kiss Sam until his knees felt weak (never mind that he was sitting down.) It didn’t seem to matter that they were sitting in the middle of a party – almost literally at the epicenter of the room. Steve had never been one for PDA before, but maybe this was his reward for punching the bad guys and then enduring a party he didn’t want to be at. He got to kiss Sam exactly when he wanted to, audience be damned. It was a slow, searching kiss, like teenagers finding their way (without the awful clumsiness) or like lovers who had promised to make it last all night. Steve sucked on Sam’s bottom lip, then ran the tip of his tongue very delicately across the sensitive center of his top. He deepened the kiss, then pulled away, deepened then pulled away, slow and sure. The background of their kiss blurred a little bit. Yeah, the music was still loud in here and the smell of alcohol and perfume was overpowering and it was a touch too hot because of all the dancing, moving bodies, and the party lights were making weird strobing colors on Sam’s closed eyelids, but all he could taste was the mint he just sucked on and the warmth of Steve’s mouth. They could have been sitting on Sam’s couch right now or in Steve’s bed – they could have been in a crawfish boat in the swampy, Floridian wilderness.  

That is, until Monica and Rhodey crashed by, Monica saying loudly and didactically, “A drunk yes is not a consensual yes. I won’t take advantage of you, no matter how much you beg.” 

“I’m not begging,” Rhodey insisted. “I’m saying you can’t ply me with alcohol and then be surprised when I’m drunk.” 

“I just wanted you to admit you like me. I’ll give very good loving tomorrow when you’re sober.” 

“You got me drunk on purpose?” Rhodey said incredulously. 

Sam didn’t hear Monica’s response as Steve chose that moment to stand and pull Sam toward the elevator. 

Sam glanced around to maybe say adieus to someone before kinda rudely leaving Stark’s party. But Natasha was behind the bar doing something beneath the counter with her hands that was making Miss Kitty Knowles’s face sparkle in a completely different way than it had sparkled for Sam. Natasha had swept Kitty’s dreads all to one side and was kissing along the long stem of her neck. Monica and Rhodey were still talking – Monica with an amused expression and Rhodey looking at her a little the way he usually looked at Stark – exasperated by fond. Stark was surrounded by non-Avengers to whom he was undoubtedly regaling a story of his feats as Iron Man. Clint, Fury, and Sharon were sitting together, drinking beers, and laughing. Yeah, no one was gonna be too pissed that Sam and Steve disappeared.  

Sam let Steve drag him into the elevator and start feeling him up even more unabashedly than before.  

"Why'd Stark give me a drone?" Sam asked, suddenly remembering Redwing. 

"Am I not doing a good enough job here?" Steve asked between kisses to Sam's jaw. "You're already thinking about your new toy." 

Sam laughed. "No, it's just weird, right?" 

Steve shook his head. "Not weird at all. I asked him to make it. For our three-month anniversary." He nuzzled Sam's shoulder. 

"I thought fancy robotics were more of a six-month kind of gift."  

Steve was walking Sam to the back elevator wall, cupping his ass and peppering his neck and jaw with kisses. "Well," Steve said, "it's been three years since I called dibs. Technically, I'm a little late." 

Sam gasped as Steve started grinding against him, the sensation only somewhat dulled by the layers of fabric between them. Steve put his super soldier strength to good use, lifting Sam slightly so Sam could grind down on his thigh. And part of Sam thought it would be kind of waste to get off like this when Steve was so good at every other part of sex, but another part of him could not be fucked to care. This felt good. This was sending eddies of pleasure down his legs and up his spine and across the shells of his ears. This was tingling, good, good, good. "Steve," he whispered and Steve stopped and Sam was trying to get friction on empty air. "Baby," he sighed, he begged. His eyes fluttered open and he saw that Natasha and Kitty Knowles were in the elevator entrance. 

"Forgot to press the button," Steve grunted.  

"Don't stop on our account," Kitty said. Her dark brown eyes were wide and entertained.  

Sam let out a shaky breath and tried to pretend like his dick wasn't tenting his pants, like he hadn't been on the very brink of a really good orgasm only moments ago.  

"Oh!" Natasha said delightedly. "Kitty, what kind of drink would you make Steve?" She leaned over Kitty to press the lobby button that Sam and Steve had forgotten, before adding, "She's amazing at this. It's like a superpower." 

Kitty grinned, her first real smile all night. She looked Steve up and down slowly, touched a finger to her throat. "He doesn't drink," she said as though she had divined this from his aura.  

Steve nodded, his cheeks still flushed and his chest still rising and falling a little faster than it should.  

"Well, if you weren't abstaining," Kitty said, still letting her gaze drag across Steve, "I'd say..." She paused again. "Ooh, you're a hard one." She sparkled some more and Sam felt the air get a little thin, like they were going up into the atmosphere instead of down to the lobby. Finally, she appeared to have her answer. "I think you, Steven, are a slow comfortable screw." 

If Steve's rosy glow could have deepened, it surely would have, as he adjusted his stance and tried to meet Kitty's bold gaze. "What's in it?" He asked. 

Natasha had gone back to kissing Kitty's neck and shoulder, as though this conversation weren't happening and Sam wondered how many redheaded sluts she'd had. Kitty tilted her head, and her face said she was used to this sort of attention, even from Russian spies turned SHIELD agents.  

"Gin," Kitty said. "Because I think you've got an edge. Southern Comfort Peach because I think this," and here she nodded at Sam, "Georgia boy is a bigger part of you than you let on. And orange juice." She winked. "To keep it wholesome." 

Sam looked up at Steve for his reaction (especially to that Georgia boy bit) and he was smiling.  

"Nat's right," Steve said. "That's a super power." 

The elevator doors opened on to the lobby and broke whatever spell had begun to weave itself between the four of them. Sam suspected if the elevator had had to go one more floor, they might have had a foursome right there in the cab. As it was, Natasha smirked and said, "Guess, we have to get off." She brought one hand up to cup Kitty's breast. "Get it? _Get off._ " 

"Yeah," Sam said. "We get it." He held on to Steve's belt loop to keep him from exiting the elevator with the women. "I don't want to see Nat just go down on Kitty," he explained in a murmur, "so let's wait a sec."  

The elevator doors closed on them and Steve looked down at Sam with such adoration in his eyes, Sam wanted to say, "get a room" just to cut through it with some humor. 

"That drink was pretty spot on," he said instead.  

Steve nodded. "Kinda makes me want to try Southern Comfort Peach." 

"Nah," Sam said, "just try me." 

Steve leaned over and kissed him again, a real narcotic kind of kiss that left Sam pleasantly woozy. "Tastes good," Steve said.  

Sam smiled. "So...slow comfortable screw. Can you make good on that?" 

Steve pressed the Open Door button on the elevator panel. "I can make good, Sam." And the promise of that was more than enough of a reward for Sam.  

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Didn't really edit, because I *technically* wrote this at "work" where I actually have a "job" to do that I was "neglecting". So...yeah...


End file.
